The Adventure of the Blind Date
by CowMow
Summary: In which John sort of forces Sherlock to go on a blind date night at Bart's. Contains paparazzi, an evil John, insults, bets, chases and some kisses. Very much Mollock, a little Johnlock If you wish really hard .
1. Chapter 1

There he lay. Long-streched on the sofa, closed eyes, in his purple dressing-gown. John,

sitting in a chair near the mantlepiece, looked at him without saying anything.

"John, don't stare like that," Sherlock moaned.

"You have been lying in the same position for the last four hours. Time to get up. Read a book!"

"A book? Dull. First page spoilers the last. Especially your books. Try Pride and Prejudice, you might even learn something."

"Want a cigaret?" John asked, ignoring the sarcastic remark.

Sherlock quickly opened his eyes, turning them on John with an expectant look. "Got any?"

John lifted an eyebrow. "You were really thinking… Oh, never mind," he said, frustated, when he saw Sherlock was on the verge of an insulting outburst. He grabbed his laptop and opened it.

His friend sunk back in the same position. "You hid my cigarets, my gun and bullets. Cluedo is under your bed, my knife is in the bathroom cupboard, and.. Oh, my harpoon is at this same time vanishing in the dustcart. You are making it all worse." He sighed, but then, with a hinge of interest he asked: "what are you doing?" He lifted his head, trying to figure out why John was typing passionately on his laptop.

"Oh, nothing," John said without looking at Sherlock.

"John?" It sounded like a warning.

"Oh, you see, it's just this little thing, you know. I told you about it. The, erm, the other night."

"No, you didn't."

"Well then, deduce it."

"No, you'd better tell me, John."

"Sherlock, let me, will you?" John looked at his friend with annoyance in his eyes.

"No, John. It has to do with me, and I don't like it. Tell me."

His deep, slow voice did not let John any other option. "Sarah showed me an invitation for blind-dating this night at Bart's. Sort of employees party."

"So?" Sherlock languidly said, already losing interest.

John looked expectingly at Sherlock.

"What? And I have to go there, deduct who it is and have a pleasant evening?"

"No, you go there, have some nice little chats," John sparred. "Stop annoying me. Annoy Lestrade. Or Donovan."

"Dull. Tedious even." His low voice vibrated through the room, it lingered a bit. John rolled his eyes. "Well, I am sure, at least your brain will stop rotting. Oh, and I bet against Anderson that you would do it."

"How much?" Sherlock didn't sound a tiny degree more interested.

"Fifty quid. Another fifty if you really found someone nice and chatted over half an hour without scaring her away."

Sherlock sat up, swiftly like a tiger on the verge of attacking. His eyes were fixed on John's, narrowing for a millisecond, then he got up and walked to his bedroom.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked, a glimps of hope could be heard in his voice.

"You are already broke, John. I can't allow you to lose a hundred."

"Fifty."

"You could win a hundred. I'd love to see the look on his face…" he said, rubbing his hand in anticipation of great pleasure. Then he turned his back towards John, and dissappeared in his bedroom. John heard the water in the shower, and half an hour later, when he was absorbed in reading something on his laptop, Sherlock appeared again.

"How do I look, John?"

John turned towards his friend, and his eyed widened. There stood a very old man on the threshold, complete with tweedjacket, bow-tie and boots, with Sherlock's voice.

"Not good?" he asked, seeing John's amused face.

"No, not really. Pick a suit, shoes, tie if you like, and go as yourself. Seriously…" John sighed and focused again on the screen before him. A quarter of an hour later, Sherlock again stepped into the room, this time wearing his purple shirt, black suit. His eyes shined, his black curls still damp from the shower. "Do I look respectable now, John?"

* * *

><p>Sherlock walked with firm steps through the doors at Bart's, his coat swirling behind him. He was greeted by surprised looks on the faces of Lestrade, Stamford and some officers he had seen a couple of times at crime scenes. Without a smile around his mouth he walked towards Anderson, who turned round to look straight in Sherlock's face. "Hello Anderson, what a surprise."<p>

"You're doing this for John, aren't you?" His baffled look was indeed pleasure to Sherlock.

"John? Oh, no idea. He's visiting his sister. I just saw the ad for this, and thought "why not?". So, here I am… when do we start?" he said cheerfully, only to irritate Anderson even more. If possible.

Anderson narrowed his eyes in annoyance, decided not to say anything and looked at a fat man, whom Sherlock recognised as 'the guy that takes photographs'.

"Hello lads," the man said in an attempt to be funny. Sherlock just fixed his eyes upon the poor man, which made him even more nervous.

"Each of you will draw a number, that will be your room. In that room, you find a wooden panel. My lovely friend Sally Donovan is telling it to the girls, so you will see them, or not, actually," here he paused a bit, to allow the men time to laugh. Some people laughed kindly but affectedly. "In around ten minutes one of the lasses will come to your room. You're the one to guess who she is, after five minutes you can remove the panel. Have fun!"

Sherlock draw number 7. He walked down the corridor, thinking how on earth he got himself caught in a situation like this. Why was he doing this? Just for John? He sighed. John just could not afford to lose 100 pounds, so he'd probably better sit this out with a minimum of irritation and effort.

* * *

><p>The first person to enter the room was a woman with firm steps. <em>Donovan<em>.

Sherlock sighed inaudible and cursed John for the second time this evening. _Never bet again, doctor!_

"Hello there," Sally opened the one-sided conversation against the wooden panel.

"Hallo Sally, you look plain tonight."

"Oh, it's the freak."

"Yes, perhaps I should mention: I'm not Anderson. He's in room 2."

Sally sighed irritated, but did not yet leave.

"Did you two have a nice chat at his home? Well, perhaps there wasn't that much talking. High heels make you look extremely ridiculous, by the way. Where did you buy them? At the groceries'?"

There was a little shuffle, and a furious Sally slammed the door shut.

"I was just saying." Satisfied, Sherlock leant backwards in his chair.

_One minute, fifteen seconds. Let's see if he could do it faster._

* * *

><p>Exactly nine minutes later, the door opened again. He listened for a moment, knew who it was and lost interest.<p>

Before she even spoke, Sherlock's voice cut the silence. "Just been dumped by boyfriend, now already hunting for someone else, Denise?"

The girl gasped in disbelief. "T-that is not according to the rules!"

"Rules are boring."

He could hear the girl blink. "Hop, off you pop, go to room 9, there is Mike. He's also been dumped. Oh, wait, you already were together! Oops."

The girl stood up and ran outside, not closing the door behind her. Sherlock smiled contented_. Less than one minute. He's on fire!_

* * *

><p>He sat down behind the panel and waited. A couple of minutes later, soft footsteps could be heard. The door was closed.<p>

Sherlock listened very carefully to whom she might be. He heard some shuffle with the chair and finally she spoke. "This is exciting, isn't it?" Her voice sounded young, humurous, at ease. Sherlock was puzzeled for a moment. "Now I need to talk about myself for 5 minutes. Well, Sally gave me a paper with questions, so I'd better start at the top then. Hang on a minute, need to find it."

Sherlock felt his muscles tighten in irritation. He already knew who it was. Of course he knew. Was this one of John's rare practical jokes?

The woman on the other side of the panel started talking, about her cats, her favourite books and television shows. She didn't sound very tense, she was relaxed and obviously enjoying herself.

Halfway through her narrative, Sherlock caught himself smiling. _Why was he smiling?_ Suddenly he felt a bit uneasy. This was not the woman he had always known!

At last there was a silence. She coughed, and said with a nervous giggle: "well, you'd better remove the panel then."

Sherlock inhaled deeply, not really knowing why he felt so nervous.

He stood up from his chair and with each hand on one side of the panel, he lifted it a couple of centimeters, put it aside and then turned towards her. His cold blue eyes met her warm brown ones. He could still see the vague smile around her mouth fading when she realised what was happening, her eyes widening in terror.

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said, while he seated himself, extremely conscious of his movements.

"Sherlock, I had no idea you… I didn't know you participated in silly games like this." The nervous giggle turned ashamed.

"Normally I don't." Sherlock felt awkward.

"Oh." She looked at her feet. Sherlock felt a tinge of guilt, and was surprised at that feeling at the same time.

He looked intentively at her. The woman from some minutes ago, nicely chatting, having fun, had disappeared, making room for a shy, tight-lipped girl who daren't say anything.

_Oh dear, he had to say something now_.

"John wanted me to join this sil.. serious game," Sherlock said with some difficulty, clearing his throat.

"Oh." She felt studid. Well, she did feel stupid lots of times, but this was worse. He didn't even try to hide his contempt for her, after she had been talking about stupid, unimportant things. _What must he think of her?_

Sherlock closed his eyes for a very short while, and suddenly he knew. John had set this up so he would make _proper_ amends to Molly. John had urged him to do so a couple of times after the Christmas Incident, but he just wouldn't. Couldn't.

He opened his eyes and looked at the clearly miserable girl. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes softened. He had loved to hear her talk so confidently just now if he was honest, about stuff that mattered to her, not a care in the world. John sometimes had that habbit as well.

He knew she fancied him, that was obvious at Christmas. Loved him. He knew now, and all of a sudden all other things seemed trivial. _But why?_

"Molly?"

She looked up at him in wonder at the soft tone, a bit of warmth, in his voice.

"I like Midsomer Murders too, you know."

He was pleased to see her eyes brighten. _Because of him?_ For once in his life he was not sure, but he liked the idea. Liked it very much, in fact.

"No, you don't," she firmly said, her brown eyes fixed in his.

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

She smiled and said: "No, you don't, because it is crap."

"Quite right, Molly. Quite right." He stood up and stretched his hand towards her. "Want to remain in this musty room, or fancy some fresh air?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you being so nice? Do you need another body?"

He chuckled, felt surprised at that himself, and Molly rised from the uncomfortable chair, admitting: "Some fresh air would do me good."

Sherlock opened the door, and saw Lestrade, Sally, Mike, Anderson and some other people, standing right outside the door.

"Good evening, everyone. Molly and I are going out for a walk," Sherlock announced, looking down at the beaming Molly. He guided her past her colleagues, but changed his mind. "Anderson, I would love to have a 100 quid from you. You owe it to John," and he gave the forensic a victorious smile. Anderson angrily took out a hundred pounds note and gave it to Sherlock, who folded it and put it in his breastpocket. "Come along, Molly," he said and walked away, Molly right behind him.

* * *

><p>A quarter of an hour later, the two of them were sitting in a small pub, chatting cosily. Well, Molly did the talking, Sherlock was mostly the attentive listener. Now and then he sipped from his drink, smiling at her questions and remarks. When she started to become less talkative, he decided to amuse her in the way he always did to John: deduct people that passed by. Now and then she just wouldn't believe him, but when he explained so that she could follow, he felt content. Restful. Strangly relaxed.<p>

* * *

><p>The clock had already struck 1 AM when Molly secretly started yawning behind her hand.<p>

"I'll take you home. Cab or walk?"

"A walk please, I love London at night."

"Me too."

* * *

><p>Molly was holding her handbag, Sherlock had his hands in the pockets of his coat. He had adjusted his speed to hers, and felt at ease. Her blonde hair now and then floated in the wind, her parfume he could smell now and then when she made way for another man or woman in the street. Somehow he seemed more sensitive to smells and noises than ever. <em>Because of her.<em>

Far too soon, they reached her house. She grabbed her keys from her handbag and tried to stick them in the keyhole. Sherlock waited patiently, a smile around his mouth and a strange feeling in his stomach. Finally, the door swung open. She looked up at him and looked at him for a full minute.

He tilted his head when she didn't look away. "What?"

"Tomorrow you will just be your normal self. Rude, cruel. Unreachable. Better keep a memory of your face now, something to remember."

His grey eyes shone like diamonds. She knew she had to go inside, prevent herself from embarrassing herself to Sherlock even more. But she just wanted to say one last thing to this very pleasant, kind man he was tonight.

"Sherlock, I really enjoyed it. There was no reason you had to be nice to me!"

He just could not get his eyes off her. "There are enough reasons, Molly."

Her stomach made some strange movements. "A-are there?"

"Of course: I would like to have a look at Brendon Casting's body tomorrow. Would nine o'clock suit you?" His attempt at a joke had failed. He knew it the second her rosy cheeks turned white, her eyes dimmed, her shoulders lowered. He felt sorry the moment the words left his mouth.

"I tried to lighten things up a bit by making a joke. Sorry."

Molly backed the doorpost for support, as her legs felt a bit too shaky. Of course it was no joke. He would ask for the body again, tomorrow. She knew him as well as that.

Suddenly, his hands were beside her head, his body close. _Too close_.

"You don't believe me." It wasn't a question, more like a statement.

She shaked her head, but was not really sure if that was the right answer when she saw his eyes turn a shade darker.

"Well, maybe this will change your mind." His voice was soft, a bit hoarse.

Molly didn't dare to breath out, as she saw his face coming even closer, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

And then his warm mouth covered her's. At first, Molly did not know what to do. She stood frozen, her legs and arms rigid, her mouth locked by his.

Suddenly she responded. It startled Sherlock, who was taken aback by her enthusiasm.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her small waist as she pressed her body against his, her hands in his crazy hair, both unwilling to let the other go, both grasping all that the other had to give.

After some delicious moments, it was Molly that broke it off.

Sherlock was flabbergasted. He had never felt like this. Never felt anything, in fact. _What had happened tonight?_

Molly was breathing heavily, trying very hard to compose herself.

"I-I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock stammered.

_He stammered. Great. _Molly knew what it meant. It was a "sorry, it was a mistake"-sorry, a sorry she had received oh so many times. But she gathered her courage and asked softly despite herself: "sorry for what?"

He inhaled deeply. "Sorry for keeping you waiting so long."

A smile broke through on her face, her eyes two deep pools of perfect contentment.

Sherlock indulged himself in her sight for some more moments, than lowered his head again and kissed her, softly this time.

* * *

><p>She smiled silently and went inside. No matter how he would behave tomorrow, this moment was hers.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock opened the door at 221B and climbed the stairs. John was sitting in his chair, reading a book.<p>

"You took your time," he said insinuating.

"I earned you a hundred quid."

A surprised look appeared on John's face as he turned towards his friend. "Who was it? Someone I know?"

Sherlock only nodded, unwilling to spoil his memories by being laughed at by John. But John persisted. Sherlock sighed and said, trying to keep his jumping heart out of his voice: "it was Molly."

John didn't answer, but looked steadfastly at Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock joked, hoping John would stop.

"You took your time.." John repeated, beginning to understand. Well, a little.

A grin appeared on Sherlock's face, but his lips were tightly sealed.

* * *

><p><em>Had a great time tonight. Coffee tomorrow at six?<br>__-SH_

_Sounds great. Starbucks?  
><em>_Xoxo Molly_

_Yours is better. Black, two sugars. I'll be waiting upstairs.  
><em>_-SH_

_Alone?  
><em>_Xoxo Molly_

Sherlock grinned. The girl would be freaking out. Too bad he couldn't see her reaction now. Let's wait how she responded to an unexpected text.

_Hell yeah!  
><em>_-SH_

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks so far for all the lovely comments! I've tried to get rid of the little errors here and there, and followed the advice of one of you to add some more "blind dates" for our in-, erm, consulting detective. If you see a little mistake, blame it to the fact English is my second language :) Please leave a comment after reading! Thanks for reading it anyway :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock just couldn't focus on his experiments. It's not that this research was dull, or that he had the results of this experiment figured out already. It was in fact very interesting. He was looking for a way to indicate blood in a large amount of water, and he was nearly there. No, it was something else. _But what? _He just could not lay a finger on it. _What was the word?_

Suddenly he jerked his head up. Would she understand he meant six o'clock in the morning? What if she thought it was in the evening, and he was waiting there for nothing? But it could also be that she knew it was in the morning, and what if he would appear in the evening and she had been waiting for nothing?

He immediately took out his phone and texted her.

_I meant in the morning.  
><em>_-SH_

Only seconds later, his phoned beeped.

_Sure. Can't you sleep either?  
><em>_-Molly_

_I hardly need sleep.  
><em>_-SH_

He waited for a response, but didn't get any. He quickly glanced at the clock. Half past three. His own equipment was not sufficient, he needed a better microscope. He stood up, grabbed his jacket from the couch, put on his coat and scarf, and was surprised by John, who came walking down the stairs with a sleepy look in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" he drowsily asked.

"Bart's, I need the microscope there. Why are you up so early?"

"Heard some noise, and thought 'better check'. Shall I come with you?" John offered.

"Oh, no, you don't have to, John. It's nothing special. Boring, even. Go back to bed, I'll be back around midday."

"You look nervous" John drily observed.

_Ah, nervous, that's the word. _"Why would I be nervous?"

"Don't know." John looked as if he knew very well why.

"Sarcasm?"

"Yeah. You know what? Off you pop, say hi to Molly from me, will you? I'm off to bed," and without saying anything else he left Sherlock standing in the hall while he went back to bed with a smile around his mouth. _Well done, Molly!_

* * *

><p>She really hadn't meant to be late. She was up on time, fed Toby, got a shower, wanted to get dressed. And that is where it went wrong: she couldn't decide what to wear today. Nothing too stylish, nothing too ordinairy. At last she was content with a swirling skirt and a tight fitting top. Perfect hair. <em>High heels or not?<em> It made her taller, so she decided to get into these black peep-toes. Thankfully it wasn't raining. Molly was all happy, until she glanced at the clock.

_A quarter for six._

It would take at least 20 minutes to reach Bart's, and she had to get coffee. Oh dear! Finally some sort of date with HIM, and SHE was LATE! She grabbed the newspaper from the mat without looking and rushed outside, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

><p>"You're late," Sherlock observed, as soon as Molly entered at a quarter past six.<p>

"I know. Sorry. Here's your coffee." She handed him the paper cup, and when he reached out for it, their fingers brushed against each other. His cold eyes bore in hers, and she noticed the cold shade turned a bit darker again, just like last night. This time it wasn't anger that caused the change. _Caution, perhaps?_

Both sat down at the high tables on stools, and stared awkwardly at each other.

Molly bravely asked at long last: "What did John say last night when you came home so late?"

"Nothing special. I had to say hi from him. This is good coffee. Made it yourself?"

"No, I was, erm.. late. Things to do, you know."

"Ah."

Suddenly his eye fell on the newspaper. He snatched it from the desk and folded it open. His eyes flew over the lines and he tapped with his finger on an article, with a gigantic picture, at the front page. Molly looked up from her coffee and tried to read the article upside-down.

Her wide-open eyes locked in Sherlock's. The unasked question was written all over her face. Breathlessly she asked: "did you do this?"

His eyes narrowed. "You didn't do this then?"

Molly shaked her head. Suddenly Sherlock felt uneasy, so he stood up and walked towards the window. He slid aside the blinds and looked down on the street.

Turning back to Molly, he said: "I fear we have been followed. We'll be safe here for some time, better read this thing first."

**Sherlock Holmes's Love Affair: Who Is She?  
><em>By Kitty Riley<br>_**_The famous detective Sherlock Holmes attended a party at St Bart's yesterday, themed Blind Date. He left the party early, accompanied by a female colleague. After going for a drink in a nearby pub, he walked her home where they parted romantically. Apparently they had a great time, as the printed picture below shows us. According to our sources, this woman is Molly Hooper, pathologist at St Bart's, and consequently close to Mr Holmes. As things turn out, this can be dramatic for Holmes's reputation, as his friend and flatmate, John Watson, will probably not really like this turn-up. At the time of going to print, we are not yet informed of any future dates, but Mr Holmes and Ms Hooper, be warned. We will be following you!_

"Dear goodness," was all the baffled Molly could utter.

"Of course. Anderson," muttered Sherlock under his breath. "Molly, ready to face the press?"

She swallowed and looked like a little rabbit that faces the great head-lights of an apporaching lorry.

"Me neither."

Quickly he scribbled down some of the notes, and placed them in his breastpocket. Molly had walked towards the window and glanced down. At least fifteen photographers were waiting outside, and suddenly someone pointed up, at Molly. Sounds of flashes from photocameras and lots of other noises drifted upwards.

"Go away from the window, Molly!" Sherlock snapped impatiently. "Now they know we are here. I'll phone John. We need a cab. Follow me, Molly."

He walked outside, and bumped into Lestrade. "Well done, Sherlock," the DI praised Sherlock. _Too much sarcasm for one day._

"Shut up, I need to talk to John," Sherlock said, already phoning his flat-mate. But somehow John didn't pick up. With an irritated look on his face he looked at Molly.

"Emergency Exit it is then. Ready?" But when he looked down at her feet, he saw she was wearing high heels. "Why are you wearing high heels? You weren't wearing them before. Never mind that now. We have to go," and he pointed towards the end of the hall, where a paparazzi photographer had already caught a glimpse of them, and he clicked some pictures now and then.

"Molly, take my hand."

Without further thinking she entwined her fingers in his and started running. Well, she tried.

"Come on, Molly!"

"Hang on, please!" she yelled, becoming fairly angry with him. "I can't run in this idiotic shoes." She stopped, slid them off and grabbed both shoes in her left hand. With bare feet she ran after Sherlock, her right hand locked in his left, down the hall, followed by the paparazzi.

When they reached the door, Sherlock pushed it open with his shoulder, and peeped around the corner. "It's safe, no-one to see here."

He looked down at her feet again, and then noticed: "Your coat is still in the lab. You're not cold?"

Molly shaked her head. It's not as if she had the time to get cold. _On the run with Sherlock. It seemed life couldn't become more beautiful._

He threw a glance behind them and pulled Molly with him, down the emergency stairs. For a short moment, Molly was distracted by the look of his broad shoulders in his great swirly coat.

She ran after him, without knowing where they went, barefooted. She was not expecting to get hurt, not with him so nearby, connected by their fingers, but that was why the pain came so suddenly, unexpected. She slipped out a shriek of shock and pain, and hopped further on one foot, almost losing her balance. Sherlock looked back, again annoyed. He just wanted the press to have lost their trail.

But when he saw the tears of pain in her eyes, he stopped and his looks softened. Her big toe bleeded, and the little soft hairs on her arms were raised. _She was cold._

Sherlock quickly considered their situation. "Moll, can you go on for half a mile? We will be able to get a cab at the main road."

_He called her Moll! _She nodded bravely, biting back the tears, and hopped behind him. However, it was not fast enough for him, so he turned around and lifted her in his strong arms.

He grinned when she looked up at him with shock readable in her brown eyes.

Far too quickly, if you asked Molly, they reached the main road after getting many looks from people in the street. Obviously, they made a great couple.

When a cab stopped to pick them up, he helped Molly ascend the car and went in after her. "Baker Street, please."

* * *

><p>When they reached Baker Street, there was no paparazzi in sight, much to Sherlock's relief. He helped Molly out the car, and opened the front door of Baker Street. She hopped inside after him, and sighed. He looked down at her with a reassuring smile.<p>

"I will get this sorted out soon. It will soon be as if nothing has happened."

Molly wasn't so sure whether that was a good thing. He had indeed been behaving much like his old self, not like the man he was yesternight. _Well, she knew this was going to happen, didn't she?_

He opened the door to Mrs Hudson's living room and placed Molly on the sofa. "John!"

Seconds later, John came down the stairs with a worried look on his face, but when he saw Sherlock standing in the door, he sighed with relief. "You're home early! It's not even 7 o'clock!"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but pointed John towards Molly. "Her feet are bleeding, can you take care of it?"

"What have you two been doing? Sherlock!" John demanded when Sherlock walked towards the table, but he was interrupted by Mrs Hudson, who came walking in with tea.

"Ah hello love! You looked chilled to the bone. Here, some tea will warm you up!"

"I don't need tea, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock answered curtly.

"I wasn't talking to you, young man. I meant the little lady over there. What were you thinking of, Sherlock, dragging her with you without a coat or shoes…! It's not very gentlemanlike of you."

"Never mind that, Mrs Hudson. It was this or something else."

John said nothing, but the look on his face was one big questionmark.

"Come on John, surely you've read the newspapers?"

John folded his arms and shaked his head. "Nope. You tell me."

Sherlock sighed, and explained the situation shortly to John. "Yesternight, Molly and I, erm… parted in a erm… friendly way. The papers got hold of pictures, printed them and now they were waiting outside Bart's. Must have been Anderson."

"What kind of pictures?" John asked innocently.

Sherlock sighed, but pulled out a newspaper from his coat-pockets and showed John.

John let out a stifled laughter when he saw the pictures. "Looks like you two were having fun. Seriously, Sherlock! You!"

Sherlock snapped the newspapers out of John's hands and folded it. "It's not funny, John." The detective looked sourly and sank down on a chair. John stood before him and looked seriously at Sherlock, just as long until Sherlock finally looked up. "What?"

"Sherlock.. was it serious or a one-off? You can't let her be miserable. Be honest: was it one of your experiments?" John whispered so that Molly wouldn't be able to hear their conversation.

Sherlock was unwilling to answer, but when John persisted, he shaked his head. "Well, I don't know. I was trying to find out this morning, but we were interrupted. By the press. Because of Anderson. I am going to kill the man!" He whispered too.

He inhaled deeply and looked back at John. "John?"

"Mm?"

"I never thought I was going to say this, but I don't know what to do."

John tried very hard not to grin, but when he saw Sherlock was serious, he sank down on a chair too and stared at Molly and Mrs Hudson. "She's a good girl, Sherlock."

"Yes, I have deduced that too. Thank you, John."

"No, I mean: don't mess with her. You want some time with her?"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "John, she doesn't have shoes nor a coat. I don't know where to go or what to do."

"Visit the zoo?" John suggested.

"Dull."

"Museum?"

"Tedious."

"Take a stroll in the park."

"Boring. And we will get recognised."

"Movie?"

"Seriously?"

"Visit a crime scene!" John snapped, almost shouted, at the end of ideas. "Why did you bloody kiss the girl in the first place!"

Sherlock cast John a warning look, but Molly had already overheard the last part of their conversation, despite their efforts to keep the volume low.

Molly looked up, and said: "We can stay here? Just you, John, Mrs Hudson, me? You play the violin, be cosy and… stuff?"

Sherlock looked at her and nodded. "Sounds good, doesn't it? Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes?"

"Do we have anything in?"

"Oh, I don't know Sherlock.. I think so. Give me a little mo, okay?" and the landlady disappeared in the kitchen.

Sherlock raised from his chair and walked upstairs, followed by Molly, who was supported by John, because her feet were really sore.

"We can play Cluedo, if you want? Scrabble, Monopoly?" John suggested, but a disaproving mutter from Sherlock was his only reply.

* * *

><p><strong><em>To be Continued.<em>**


	3. Chapter 3

When all three were upstairs, John helped Molly to sit down in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock hung his coat on the peg and soon John joined him.

"How are her feet, John?" Sherlock asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

"They are very sore from walking without shoes. Was it that bad, Sherlock?" John's eyes were questioningly. His friend didn't answer. "Anyway, Sherlock, why don't you ask her?"

Sherlock's eyes widened for a second, then he sighed and nodded. Awkwardly he walked towards Molly, who was studying her nails. "Are you alright, Molly?" he asked.

"Erm, yes. I'm fine," Molly answered fast. _Too fast._ Sherlock noticed but didn't say anything.

"Sherlock? Do you think Anderson is behind this?"

"I think so, yes. Do you mind?" _Mmm… stupid question?_

The look Molly gave him was answer enough. "Yes, I mind! We are in the bloody newspapers, pictured, together! Of course I mind!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to give her an answer, but Mrs Hudson's entrance interrupted them.

"Sherlock, dear. Do you mind if I use your kitchen?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Why? To make breakfast, young man. That's why. It's seven o'clock, I am sure the little lady over there could do with some, and you haven't had any in days."

Sherlock sighed and looked at John, but he was already busy helping the landlady. Molly also rised and asked with a thin voice if she could help too.

"Oh no, dear. No need. John is helping me, he is a great cook, isn't he, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded absently, already busy studying his notes from back at the lab.

Molly shrugged and sat down again, taking the remote from the telly and turning it on. She groaned softly, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear it. His eyes flew towards the television. BBC Breakfast was on. With pictures of them. Again. _Has Britain gone mad?_

From his sofa he called John. "John, tell me: WHY do the press do this?"

"Since the Reichenbach Case, you're hot, mate," John said drily. "Get used to it."

Molly's shoulders had lowered, Sherlock noticed. Of course he noticed. "I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't know this was going to happen."

Her dark brown eyes turned on him. "It's okay. It's not as if I mind what happened.. it's the attention. How will we explain that we no long.." but she trailed off when Sherlock's eyes narrowed. _They narrowed quite a lot_, Molly suddenly noticed.

When Molly remained silent, he asked. "Explain what?"

"Well, erm.." Molly spoke clumsily. "Well, that we are not a couple.. You know."

"Is that what you want to tell them?" Sherlock's voice was harsh. He didn't mean to, it just happened.

Molly's eyes were asking for clarification, but Sherlock decided not to give it. Not yet. His own racing engine needed some rest. _Wow, he had never thought he would ever think that._

"Breakfast's ready!" stated a proud Mrs Hudson. The smell of coffee and fresh baked bacon drifted through the room. Molly hobbled towards the table, followed by Sherlock.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was studying Molly closely, and saw she piled up food on her plate like she hadn't eaten for days. Molly felt his gaze and smiled apologetically. "I missed breakfast this morning," she blushed.<p>

A grin spread across Sherlock's face, and their eyes held each other for some more moments. Softened, scanningly.

John coughed softly, breaking the spell. Quickly, Sherlock took some toast and took a great bite. Suddenly he felt hungry too.

Breakfast passed quietly, now and then the rustle of John's newspaper broke the silence. Suddenly John sniggered loudly, Sherlock cast him a glance.

"What's so funny, John?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing, Sherlock. Just you in the papers, these are great pictures. Shall I read the article?"

But Molly quickly answered: "No, thank you John. Coffee, anyone?" she offered as a diversion.

When breakfast was over, Molly and John cleared the table. When Mrs Hudson came in, and exclaimed: "oh, dear! It's already 8 o'clock!", Molly jumped up with a startled look on her face. "I have to go to work! My shift starts at half past 7!"

She slid in her high heels, whilst Sherlock stood close, watching her. "I'll walk you there, Molly."

When John turned his eyes on him, and Sherlock detected the amusing laugh in them, he added: "just to make sure you won't be bothered by the press," and he cast John a warning glance.

"Oh, thank you Sherlock, that's very kind, yes please." Molly blushed again.

When Sherlock followed her towards the hall, John whispered in his friend's ear: "be careful, you could be followed by paparazzi, you know. The pictures are in the newspapers before you know it!"

Sherlock smiled and left the appartment, following Molly, who, when she came down, got a nice pullover from the landlady.

Once outside, Sherlock walked beside the pathologist. It was considerable busier in the streets. Suddenly the girl halted.

"I don't blame you, if you thought that," she spoke. "The rumour will have died out before the day is over."

Sherlock felt a pang of disappointment, but decided not to say anything. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He enjoyed having her around, and that meant a lot, he knew that. But John's warning had been a clear one: don't mess with her.

He had always thought Molly was a dull, boring lab-mouse, but when she entered the room last night, he saw her, the way she really was. The way she could be, if he wasn't around. The idea came to him clearly. He wasn't a man for relationships. _Sentiment. _It's not that he needed to be adored, somehow he liked having Molly around, he just couldn't show it. _The fly in the equipment. _From what he had seen happening with John, relationships needed effort, time. He couldn't offer that to this girl.

"What are you thinking about?" her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"What were you thinking about? You looked pensive, not really happy. Are you having trouble with a case?" her faithful eyes looked up at him.

_A case. You could see it that way._ He nodded.

* * *

><p><em>If only she could help him.<em> He looked really troubled. Without thinking twice she grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers, just as they had done some two hours ago. Again she was surprised to feel that his hands were not cold. _He was warm, alive_. _And she walked here with him._

* * *

><p>When they reached Bart's, the pack of photographers had gone. Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and turned to face him. "Sherlock, thank you. For saving me from the press, I mean. Oh, Mrs Hudson's sweater, would you mind giving it back to her?"<p>

"You could drop it by yourself, say this evening after your shift? I still owe you the violin," Sherlock said, suddenly feeling nervous. _What if she didn't want to?_

Her eyes lighted, much to his relief. "Yes, I'll do that."

And suddenly he just couldn't resist. Softly he pressed his lips to her rosy cheeks. He had just straightened his back, when Molly stood on her toes, got hold of the front of his coat and pulled him down. Their lips met, and the overhelming feeling he had felt yesterday settled on him again. He felt her hands disappear in his hair and he cupped her face with both his hands. Their lips moved synchronously against each other, fitting exactly.

_How close could a girl get to Sherlock_, Molly wondered as she grabbed a handfull of raven curls and felt his hands on her back.

He suddenly broke off, when he remembered the press.

"You are a true miracle, aren't you?" she asked. He _wás_ a true miracle. When she was around he had no idea how to handle himself or her, but when they kissed that shyness dissappeared, making room for passion. She had always hoped the albaster skin and cold-blue eyes had only been a cover, meant to protect this loving heart. She knew it was not exactly that dramatic, but he was capable of loving. _Loving her?_

He smiled reassuringly down on Molly, and said softly: "I'll see you tonight then" and he walked off. Molly straightened her clothes and walked inside.

* * *

><p>Thankfully Anderson and Donovan were not here today she thought, when she pushed open the doors to her morgue. She blinked when she saw three photographers in front of her, and a micrphone was pushed in her face.<p>

"Where is Sherlock?", "Was is a one-off?", "How long have you had a crush on him?" and "What does doctor John Watson think of this development?" were the questions they fired at her. With wide-open eyes of shock, Molly stood dumb in the doorway, not knowing what she should say.

All of a sudden her sight was blocked by Lestrade, who tried to keep the press away from Molly so that she could get away.

"People, people, please, let's behave like grown-ups. You will get your information, but let Miss Hooper continue her work."

* * *

><p>Irritated, Sherlock picked up his phone. "Lestrade, you know I prefer to text. What's so urgent?"<p>

"Sherlock, it's about Molly."

Sherlock sat up straight immediately. "What about her?"

"She was harrassed by the press in the Morgue when she came here."

"I'm on my way." He clicked the DI away and looked at John. "John, do you want to come with me? The press was in the morgue when Molly arrived."

* * *

><p>"Where is Anderson," Sherlock demanded to know as soon as he had arrived, John following on his heels.<p>

Denise, who was the girl he was asking it to, shrugged.

"Oh, this is about yesterday, isn't it?" Sherlock turned around. "Doesn't matter, I'll find him anyway."

"Has the freak become protective of his little girlfriend?" The whining voice of the forensic made Sherlock spin and look at the man.

With firm strides Sherlock reached the forensic, and leveled his face with Anderson's. He hissed with withheld anger: "Anderson, allow me to warn you. Touch me and you will be fine. Touch Molly, I'll find you and you will definitely not be fine. It doesn't matter if she's my *girlfriend* or how you call it, she's my friend, and you stay away from her. And if the press knows where to find her again, you won't be smiling for much longer. This joke has lasted long enough."

The forensic put up a surprised face, and brought his hand to his heart. "Me? I didn't do anything, Sherlock. Promised. It wasn't me."

Sherlock grabbed the front of the man's coat and pushed him roughly against the wall. "I'm warning you, Anderson. Just some friendly advice." Then he pushed Anderson away and walked towards Lestrade's office.

John cast Anderson a look and walked after Sherlock.

* * *

><p>The press gathered outside Bart's, waiting for Sherlock and John to appear. Molly sat in Lestrade's office, feeling very miserable. She couldn't even go to work because of her friendship with the Detective.<p>

The door opened and he came in, softly the consulting detective closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry. I'll tell the press to piss off, hopefully they will leave you alone."

He knelt down before her, so that he could look her straight in the face. "It will be fine soon. It will be like nothing has happened."

Molly wanted to say she didn't want it to be like nothing had happened, but he read it in her eyes. With two fingers he stroked her face gently, reassuringly, and then he stood up. When he was at the door he turned. "I'll see you tonight."

* * *

><p>The murmur stopped when Sherlock stepped outside. The microphones were pushed in his direction, all were trying to get as much information as they could.<p>

John was at his side, as always, with his hands behind his back.

"Miss Hooper and I would both appreciate it if you could leave her alone. She's just trying to do her work, and so do I. If you pursue her again or wait on her at her work, I'll sue you. All of you. You know who I am, I always win. So I'll just repeat myself: leave us alone. Now if you will all excuse me, I have a case to solve."

He walked down the stairs, ignoring the press.

* * *

><p>As soon as the doors of the cab had closed, he cursed. "The bloody press! What can be possibly interesting about me and Molly having an affair! How empty-minded." He inhaled deeply and looked at John. "That won't hold them off, will it?"<p>

"Nope," John answered. "You'd better keep a low profile, I'm sure it will all calm down soon. How is the blood-indicator going on?"

"Oh, it's going well."

John sighed. "What about Molly? Do you know how to keep going on with this?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Do you want to stop it then?"

"No, that's the whole problem. I'm not a man for relationships, but when she kisses me..."

John smiled understandingly.

"What?" Sherlock asked, not understanding his friend. _Well, that was new too._

"She's the most unlikely girl for the job, but she has shown herself able of defrosting your heart."

"Is that supposed to be poetry? It doesn't make any sense. I've always been able to block these sentiments out."

"Molly's a clever girl, Sherlock. At last you appreciated her. As a woman."

Sherlock was silent for a full two minutes. "Do you think so?"

John nodded.

"She's coming over this evening, after her shift."

"Oh. Oh right! Do you want me to go out, then? Have the place for yourself?"

"No, I'd rather have you staying. I would bore her to death!"


	4. Chapter 4

John smiled. "Seriously, Sherlock. You boring someone to death? Doesn't happen! You would only insult them and scare them away."

"You know what I mean, John."

* * *

><p>Sherlock passed the rest of the day in his ordinary manner, namely finishing his research for the blood-indicator, but he had already finished that before he had been busy for 13 minutes and 49 seconds, so, after his research, he started bothering John by deducting, teasing and making nasty don't-you-see-it's-so-obvious remarks while he lay languidly on the sofa. At last, John was sick and tired of it. And that was exactly what he told his flat-mate.<p>

"Sherlock, Molly is coming over here tonight."

"I invited her, yes."

"Are you going to do anything special then? Impress the girl?"

"Dull."

"Well, perhaps, but the result you'll get in the end won't be dull at all."

Sherlock opened his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You know what? Deduce it. Cook a meal for her, think of something you can do tonight, or she might just leave after dinner. Go bowling, for all I care."

"Bowling?"

John raised his hands skywards in despair and decided to leave the detective to himself, he was going out.

* * *

><p>After John had left, Sherlock decided he had to make Molly comfortable. <em>Cook a meal?<em> A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He would surprise them all.

At least, that was what he planned to do. His mother had taught him how to cook, and he had been pretty good at it once. But because he had a housekeeper, pardon, Landlady who cooked for him, he didn't need to do it himself. That was why he found himself flappig a towel in his kitchen, trying to get rid of the black smoke.

A worried Mrs Hudson stuck her head around the door to inquire what had happened upstairs, and when she saw Sherlock, standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking very lost.

"Oh, dear. Let me help you. What had you planned to cook?"

Sherlock explained and that is how John found them: making a lasagna, together. John folded his arms before his chest and looked at the two of them. Mrs Hudson was like an army-officer, giving commands to the obeying Sherlock and keeping an eye on everything that happened in her kitchen. Smilingly, John took out his newspaper, sat down and started reading.

* * *

><p>When there was a modest ring at the door downstairs, Sherlock had just finished setting the table. He glanced at his watch, and went downstairs. John had to fight the impuls not to sneak after his friend and watch how they would greet each other.<p>

When both were upstairs, Molly sniffed loudly. "Smells good, Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson pointed towards Sherlock, who stood nonchalantly against the door post. Molly turned her dark brown eyes on the tall man, a hinge of appreciation in it.

"Well," Sherlock exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "Who wants dinner?"

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, I hate to admit it, but it was really good!" John said, leaning back in his chair. Sherlock smiled at his Landlady. "Yes, it rather was, wasn't it?"<p>

"Where did you learn that?" Molly asked.

"My mother was very keen to teach me, but Mrs Hudson helped a great deal. She could control an army and a saucepan, and both would be able to defend the country," Sherlock teased the elder lady, who smiled proudly back.

* * *

><p>"Look what I have here," John stated when he came walking down the stairs, carrying a box Sherlock didn't recognise.<p>

"Oh, Trivial Pursuit!" Molly clapped her hands. "That's such a fun game, haven't played it for ages!"

John opened the box and quickly explained the rules to Sherlock and Mrs Hudson, who were both not familiar with the game.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, a question for you. Ah, it's an easy one. What kind of Australian toy comes back when you throw it away?" John asked.<p>

"A boomerang. Obvious."

Molly got a question about Tennis, John about international code words. Mrs Hudson answered the question about the weddingdate of Lady Di and Prince Charles correctly, and then it was Sherlock's turn again.

"What was the name of Luke Skywalker's father?" Molly asked.

"Who's father?" Sherlock looked as if he had swallowed a living cockroach.

"Luke Skywalker. From Star Wars," John explained patiently.

"Star Wars?"

"The films?"

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but you must answer now."

"Daddy Skywalker?" Sherlock guessed.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock: Who killed MacBeth?" Molly asked.<p>

"Is that a king?"

"Yes, he was."

"A brute murder?"

"It was in battle, actually."

Sherlock thought very hard but just couldn't remember. "I can't recall a case or lawsuit about this. Who was it?"

Molly glanced at her card. "Macduff."

"Macduff? What a weird name is that!"

"It's Shakespeare, Sherlock."

"Ah."

* * *

><p>"Which playing card brings bad luck?"<p>

"Who invented all these questions? They are so trivial!"

"That's why it's called Trivial Pursuit."

"Yes, I see. What was the question again, John?"

"You're just trying to get more time, Sherlock. Answer the question!"

"It's just ridiculous."

"Just answer the bloody question, Sherlock!"

"No. It's a stupid question."

"You just don't know what the answer is. It's Queen of Spades, by the way."

* * *

><p>They sustained the game for exactly one round. Molly won. Sherlock stated afterwards that it was even more tedious than Cluedo.<p>

"I like Cluedo," Molly exclaimed, but the look on Sherlock's face silenced her.

* * *

><p>"I owed you the violin, remember?" Sherlock asked, getting up and lifting the instrument from its housing.<p>

John moved in his chair so he could sit more comfortable, Mrs Hudson offered tea to everyone and sat down too. Molly fixed her eyes on Sherlock as he lifted the bow and created the first soft tones.

She closed her eyes and her toughts floated away on the melody the detective shaped. She recognised some Bach and Paganini, but it slowly changed to something she had never heard before. A sad melody, but also hopeful and lifting. Powerful. she felt that if he played just a while longer, she could touch his soul, but she just couldn't grab it.

When he stopped, she sighed and opened her eyes. "That was beautiful, Sherlock," Molly whispered.

Sherlock bowed and smiled, fixing his eyes a bit longer on the girl sitting on his sofa.

"It was a lovely evening, dears, but I'm off to bed," Mrs Hudson announced. All wished her a good night, and John stood up shortly afterwards too.

"I'm off too. You two: behave!" he winked and left the sitting room, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone.

* * *

><p><strong>I have some ideas for what can happen next, but suggestions are welcome! Thanks for the Alerts, Favs and comments, they are helpful and stimulating :) I hope you liked this Chap too, hopefully I didn't mess the characters up..<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock placed his bow and violin back in their case after John had left, and carefully closed the lid. As enchanted Molly followed his movements.

He seated himself on top of the small table, exactly opposite Molly. Their knees almost touched, and Molly felt a blush creeping up.

Sherlock smiled slightly when he noticed.

"How can you not know Shakespeare, Sherlock?" Molly asked, desperately trying to find a topic to talk about.

"Oh, I do know Shakespeare."

"Then why didn't you know Macbeth?"

Sherlock sighed. "My brain works differently from yours."

She lifted an eyebrow sarcastically. "Does it?"

"Yes. Okay! I heard murder and never thought about Shakespeare. Satisfied?" he said apologetically.

Molly bit her lip. "No, not really."

Sherlock frowned. "What do you want to hear then? You are just like John. Always so vague! Anyway, did you enjoy yourself tonight?" he said, backing away a bit. _Why was he sitting so close? He shouldn't be sitting this close._

Molly inhaled deeply. "Yes, I did. Especially the game," she giggled softly.

Sherlock hid a smile and stood up quickly, walking towards the window. He drew the blinds aside and looked down on the streets. "I'm sorry, Molly. I think you need to leave by the back door. Paparazzi's on the street."

"Really? How did they know?" Molly rised and tried to catch a glimpse of the nasty men over Sherlock's shoulder.

"They must have been following you," Sherlock stated, letting go of the blinds, and turning around to face Molly.

"Well, I suppose I can crash down on your sofa here?" Molly suggested.

"You could also use my bed. I don't sleep anyway. Too busy, you know," Sherlock explained, vaguely gesturing towards his head.

"Yes, you texted that." Molly quickly explained herself: "I mean, you texted that you hardly need sleep."

Awkwardly they stood opposite each other. _He had never felt awkward. When did that change?_

* * *

><p>Molly was sure she understood the signals correctly. He had no idea what to do. Luckily she has had some practice before. Carefully, she took his hands and faced him.<p>

"How are your feet?" the tall man asked hoarsely.

"Shhh." Molly laid a finger on his lips to silence him and slowly followed the soft curves of his mouth with both her finger and eyes.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Sherlock found his breathing going faster.

She looked up at him, and whispered: "shut up, I'm trying to teach you something."

Slowly she raised herself by grabbing the purple cloth of his shirt, and kissed him. A soft groan from Sherlock she got as reply and as response to that she opened her mouth. He followed her example within the millisecond. With a fast beating heart, she slowly slid her tongue in his mouth and waited for a response from his side.

He stiffened at first, but then he layed his hands on her hips and copied her movements in the exact same way. A shiver went down his spine, and, longing to be even closer to her, he pushed her gently against the wall, imprisoning her body with his.

* * *

><p>Suddenly the door flung open, and the pair broke apart immediately. Mycroft Holmes casually stepped into the room, acting as if he had not seen his younger brother snogging the pathologist.<p>

"Miss Hooper," he greeted, polite as always. And then, without wasting any more time he continued, "Sherlock, I need to talk to you. Miss Hooper, if you don't mind?"

"Erm, yes, of course," and she quickly left the room, closing the door behind her after a last glance at the detective.

"Sherlock, I've noticed that you are being followed closely by the paparazzi," Mycroft quickly said, allowing Sherlock no time to object.

Sherlock waved dismissively with his hand. "A stupid joke from Anderson, the forensic."

"No."

"No?" Sherlock was genuinly surprised.

Mycroft sat down on the chair, and crossed his legs. His inseperable umbrella he held in hand.

"No. The information came from someone else."

"Mycroft, don't do important, just tell me. Who was the source?"

"John," the elder brother stated, watching his younger brother's face closely.

"John?" Sherlock repeated, chuckling. "Tell me, please. Oh great brother, enlighten me? Why would John do something like that?"

"Surely you can deduct that?"

Sherlock thought hard. "Sentiment?"

His brother nodded. "I'm afraid he has been very helpful to the press. Well," he continued, "I think I'll just leave you to it."

* * *

><p>After Mycroft had left, Sherlock remained in his chair, thinking all the information over. <em>Nope, he still didn't get it.<em>

"What's wrong?" Molly interrupted this thinking-process.

"I don't know yet. We'll see. Where were we?"

Molly silently shaked her head, a smile on her face. "Sherlock, I 'm off to bed. Early shift tomorrow." By the door she halted. "Thanks for tonight, I've enjoyed it," she said, her eyes shining in the dark.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Sherlock opened the door of his bedroom. He saw Molly, all curled up, covered with a thin sheet.<p>

Just when he was about to close the door, she said, half asleep: "why are you here?"

"Oh, you know. Just to make sure you're comfortable."

She lifted the sheet with her right hand, inviting Sherlock without words. He sat down at the edge of the bed, took of his shoes and jacket, and slid beside her. She laid her head on his chest, her arm loosly across his stomach, cuddling up against him with her eyes closed. He put his arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

"What happened in the living room, Molly?" he softly asked.

"Hmm?"

"The kiss…"

A sleepy smile crept over her face, and with her eyes still closed she asked: "did you like it?"

"Yes," he answered soflty, feeling she had fallen asleep already. "Good night, Molly," he whispered in her blond hair. And at long last, the detective's breathing slowed down too, and it was quiet at 221B.

* * *

><p>And that was how John found them the next morning. He didn't mean to wake them, but Lestrade was waiting in the living room, because, normally, Sherlock would be awake. So when John offered to wake Sherlock for him, he did not really expect to see them both fully dressed asleep in each other's arms. It was not that what made John feel miserable, but the prefectly contented looks on their faces.<p>

Nevertheless, he woke up Sherlock, whose eyes flung open immediately, fixed on John for only a very short moment. Carefully, he unwrapped Molly's arms, trying very hard not to wake her too. He grabbed his dressing gown and walked towards the living room where Lestrade was waiting.

"What is it this time?" he asked the DI, yawning. "It'd better be important, I haven't slept for days!"

"Sherlock, I'm just here to tell you there's loads of photographers at Bart's again. And here," he waved with the newspaper, "pictures again. Anderson swears it wasn't him."

"Thank you, I'll spend some time on it, DI. Now, if you would be so kind to leave..?"

* * *

><p>"Well, John. It's starting to be annoying now." Sherlock closed his newspaper and attended to his coffee.<p>

"What is?"

"The paparazzi. Strange that Anderson vows it's not him. It's really his kind of thing, actually."

"Yes, I suppose it is," John answered, not really paying attention. When Sherlock remained silent, he looked up, only to stare in the cold, icy eyes. "What?" John asked, laughing.

"I know it's you, John. Why are you doing this?"

John sighed. "Long story, you wouldn't understand. Ah, Molly! Good morning!" he greeted the sleepy girl that entered the room. "Have you slept well?"

She looked at Sherlock smiling sweetly and nodded.

"Here, have some breakfast. There's enough, Sherlock didn't want any."

Molly thanked John, and sat down.

* * *

><p>After breakfast, when John was brushing his teeth upstairs, Molly said after reading today's newspaper: "I'll be off then. Erm, I need to feed Toby, so I won't be able to get here tonight. It's got nothing to do with you, it's just…"<p>

"I understand," Sherlock interrupted. "Let's wait until all this mess has cooled down a bit. Shall I call you?"

She nodded, shortly kissed Sherlock and meaningfull added: "thank you, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>She left for Bart's by cab. Sherlock was standing near the window, watching her leave. When John came downstairs, he noticed her absence immediately.<p>

"She's gone to work, needs some time off. Scared away by the paparazzi," Sherlock said, his eyes still following the cab. "Now, explain."

John stepped closer towards Sherlock. "You really have no idea, have you?"

"I do have four… no, three ideas, but they don't make much sense."

"Think, Sherlock." Another step closer. Sherlock's face was one big question mark now.

John was close enough to touch Sherlock, and with his finger he followed his friend's cheekbones and jawline.

"I-I don't understand, John." Sherlock was really confused.

"I believe you do!" John answered, his eyes fixed on Sherlock constantly, moving even closer, causing Sherlock to back away until he was stopped by the wall.

"Oh yes, I believe you do," John repeated, softly whispering.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: Sorry for the evil John part here.. Just couldn't resist it xD Thank you for all the lovely comments.. Hopefully you liked this chapter as well! More to come soon, so don't despair. :)<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

"No, I don't. Explain it to me!" Sherlock was at a loss. For the first time ever he didn't understand his friend, and he didn't quite like this new feeling.

"At last… the famous detective asks…" John spoke softly. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Just tell me, John."

John remained standing close to Sherlock, sliding his hand downwards, along his friend's neckline towards Sherlock's chest, touching his shoulder briefly, further down his arm, grabbing his hand, entwining their fingers. His lips were very, dangerously close to Sherlock's, but, strangely enough, Sherlock didn't feel the urge to run away and hide. _Molly had indeed taught him something!_

Suddenly, John backed away, letting go of Sherlock's hand, and seated himself in his armchair, motioning Sherlock to sit down too, crossing his legs.

"Well, Sherlock… I truly had a bet with Anderson, would you believe. When he texted me you were leaving with Molly, I decided to follow you, I hadn't really anticipated that, you see. The pictures, the press, it seemed the only way I could stop you from making one of the biggest mistakes in your life. You don't give a penny for talk, but I know Molly did. I am their source. Mycroft's yours?"

"Mycroft found it out, yes," Sherlock admitted, finally seeing it. "When will you stop this?"

John inhaled and exhaled deeply before looking at Sherlock. "You know when, dearest Sherlock. You know."

John's phone suddenly rang, and he picked up without excusing himself.

- "Yes?"

- "Hmm hmm, I see. When?"

- "More information?" he asked, looking at Sherlock now. "Can be done. I'll look it up for you. I'll call you, when it suits ME!" He hung up and smiled at Sherlock. "Any more questions? No, wait, I'll make tea first."

* * *

><p>"Since when?" Sherlock asked, sipping from his tea.<p>

"Oh, since you and I ran after that cab. I loved you, there and then. How could you ever fall for Molly, the grey lab-mouse?"

"Oh, so now I must decide between you and Molly?"

"No. I chose for you. You can pick the hard way, or the easy way. THAT is your choice."

"But what if I love Molly?"

John shaked his head compassionately. "You, loving Molly? Dear me, Sherlock. Dear me."

"You screamed the loudest that we are not a couple."

"We weren't a couple. I couldn't admit it, not without knowing your feelings. Please, Sherlock.. will you tell me," John begged. "I love you, please, say something! Seeing you with Molly was absolute torture, do you understand? I can't live without you, not anymore. The whole world seems to know, except you. Please, Sherlock. Say something." He leaned forwards, eager to hear the long-awaited words, his eyes pleading.

Sherlock remained silent, studying John intensly. "Something is wrong here, John. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll find out."

A little smiled played around John's mouth, inviting Sherlock to play his game along.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You are punishing me, because I did something. No, I didn't do anything, and that is what bothers you."

"Good, go on."

Sherlock's brain was working its hardest, but he was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

* * *

><p>Both men waited, and suddenly the door burst open, and Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Anderson, Mike, Sally and several others walked into the room.<p>

Lestrade was the first to ask. "How did it go, John?"

"Sorry, guys, You are too early. He hasn't figured out yet."

Sherlock looked from one to the other. "John? Explain. What is going on here?"

John smiled. "Me, proving a point."

"Why - What point?" Sherlock's face was still blank.

"That you are a bastard because you choose to be. You can be loving, and dedicated and caring, if you choose to be."

"And why would you want to prove that?"

John raised an eyebrow, remaining silent.

"Come on, John." Sherlock was feeling irritated.

"You forgot my birthday, you sod!"

"Oh…"

* * *

><p>Mrs Hudson brought in a cake, presents were given to John, and some songs were sung. All in all, a very cheery birthday. Well, belated cheery birthday. And his best friend didn't have a gift to give him.<p>

* * *

><p>When the guests had left some hours later, Sherlock and John were alone in 221B's sittingroom again.<p>

After a while, Sherlock coughed _nervously_ and asked: "so you arranged all that, just to make me feel like an idiot? I had no idea birthdays were so important to you."

"I did."

"You played well. Being, well, you know…"

"Thanks. In fact, your face had the same impression as back then at the swimming pool. Did you think I was some sort of weird maniac?" John giggled

Sherlock sighed and admitted reluctantly: "yes, I did. Could hardly believe it. You have really made your point, I _should_ pay more attention to you. I'm sorry I forgot your birthday, John."

John smiled. "Apologies accepted."

After a short silence, Sherlock had one last question left. "What about the press?"

"Oh, when I stop feeding them, they'll back off soon. No worries about that."

* * *

><p>At eleven o'clock, John made for the door. "I'm off to bed. By the way, it's not just me you should be paying more attention too. I had some very willing participants in my scheme. And no, I am not talking about Anderson." And with a meaningful look, John left for his bedroom, leaving Sherlock pondering his words.<p>

* * *

><p>The darkened lab slowly came back to life after a night of loneliness. Molly Hooper clicked on the lights, dumping her coat and back on the nearest aluminium table. She sighed, a long day lay ahead of her.<p>

"You always start this early?" The deep voice sounded like a thunderbolt through the room. Molly started, but when she saw him sitting there, at the desk where they had been the day before yesterday too, she glanced the sleuth's face, looking for signs where they were standing. _On friendly footing or not?_

"Sit down, please," he motioned.

Molly sat down immediately, looking, almost staring, at Sherlock. He came back, to her. His curls were coal black, his face as if made of marble.

"John told me. You guys did a nice job, fooling me like that."

Molly only nodded.

"I've always said sentiment is the grid in the equipment," he added, scanning Molly's face sharply.

Her complexion went red, she was blushing again.

Suddenly Sherlock smiled, chuckled. "Sod the equipment. Here, fancy a coffee?" he asked, while grabbing the two cardboard cups from underneath the table. "It's Starbuck's I fear, I was in a hurry."

One thing led to another, and soon the coffee stood forgotten on the table. Cold.

"Erm, Molly? The game is over… John told him, you know," Anderson stood in the doorway, looking at the two he interrupted during their kiss, almost laughing himself to death. "Are you still playing John's game? It's ended, freak, but Molly probably didn't understand."

"Hello Anderson, thank you for stating the absolute obvious. As always, you've got it wrong. Please leave," Sherlock answered, closing the door in the forensic's face. Turning back to Molly, his eyes softened, a slight smile around his mouth.

From behind the door, Anderson's muffled voice could still be heard. "Get a room, you two!"

"What do you think, Molly? The lab, will it do?" Sherlock's deep voice was inviting, irresistably inviting.

And what was the girl supposed to do, other than barricading the door, letting down the blinds, closing the curtuins, locking the world out, and murmuring "I am _so_ going to teach you something!"?

* * *

><p><strong>Well, guys and girls..<strong>

**Thank you for staying with me through this one. I hope the turns were believeable, and that you've enjoyed it. I'm afraid this is the end of the Adventure of the Blind Date, but there will be loads of other stories, as my "plot bunnies" (nope, not my term) still haven't eaten me alive :) Please, feel free to leave a comment, any suggestions or requests for further stories will of course be taking in account!**


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